THE SIGNAL TO NOISE -- THE TEA PARTY
Source: Access Magazine, September/October 1997

The Tea Party has a bad reputation: They're arrogant, pompous, rude. They say they're just quiet. Maybe so, but their new album...Transmission isn't. Anastasia Silva cuts through the static.

When Jeff Martin and Jeff Burrows -- two-thirds of the once Windsor-based, now Montreal-based threesome The Tea Party -- arrive at the ambient Toronto bar and grill, they carry with them an aura of confidence, as though they're totally aware of -- yet ambivalent about -- the interested glances cast their way. Their stance is casual but striking, a combination of good looks and height which immediately reminds me of Howard Roark, the fictional architect in Ayn Rand's novel The Fountainhead. The Tea Party (singer/multi-instrumentalist Martin, percussionist Burrows and absent bassist/keyboardist Stuart Chatwood) share a similar mindset to Rand's unyielding protagonist: Both have forged their paths in unorthodox, individualistic ways.
Leading the way -- at least lyrically -- is the dark, wavy-haired philosopher king Martin, with his sometimes wise, sometimes weird musings on life. A self-proclaimed "old soul," Martin, 27, is a bookworm who is drawn to the poetic power of words and fascinated by their numerous meanings and subtleties. His lyrics are laden with meaning, both hidden and direct. Martin's fascination with words and dogma had provided much inpiration for his songwriting.
On Transmission (which Martin also produced), Russian author Yevgeny Zamyatin's work was especially inspirational; the song 'Army Ants' is based on his novel, We. "Zamyatin was very critical of the Utopian ideal that Communism has, which is essentially the loss of individuality at the gain or betterment of the whole," says Martin. "'Army Ants' was a warning to myself -- and anyone who would like to listen -- of the trappings and artificial comfort of the crowd."
Martin, who writes the lyrics after the music is recorded, is as careful about choosing the proper words when he speaks as he does when writing a song. While he orders some bruschetta to accompany his beer, he explains the significance he attaches to his bandmates' understanding of his lyrical viewpoint: "Especially with the songs on Transmission, I took the time to sit with Jeff and Stuart to explain where I was going with each song's lyrical content and how I felt it echoed the sentiment of the music."
On Transmission, Martin's preoccupation with the human condition comes to life in the melancholia raging in 'Psychopomp', about near-death experiences; the nakedness of the ballad 'Release', which, he says, is an apology to all women; and the erotic allure and karmic impulse of the first single, 'Temptation'.
"I think of Transmission as five steps ahead of [1995's The Edges of Twilight]," Martin explains. "To put it into perspective, the three of us as individuals are very different people, but the one thing we have in common is that we're more severe judges of our own music than anyone else could be. So if Transmission wasn't two or three times the album Edges was, it wouldn't be out right now."
Lyrically, the 11-song album is rich with a rawness that is absent in the band's previous releases, but it's the power behind Burrows' drums, the echoes of Chatwood's keyboards, and Martin's passionate vocal delivery and keen musicianship that drive this record. "I play more off him than he does off me," says Martin, referring to Burrows, who is beating a tattoo on the table with his hands, filling our conversation with drum rolls as well as the occasional clink of ice cubes from his now-empty glass of cranberry and soda. Pausing briefly, he focuses on the interview at hand.
"[The music] is a marriage of the three very different parts that each one of us plays within the band," Burrows says.
"Jeff's the centrepiece, but it's almost like a pinball machine effect where we bounce off each other. Jeff might be the big silver ball and we're the bumpers. I don't know..." He trails off, chuckling to himself -- perhaps realizing he's oversimplified the band's diversity.
Reflecting on their history, his reaction seems fitting. The first album, 1993's Splendor Solis explored their blues roots; the second, The Edges of Twilight, blended African and Eastern instruments with rock; while last year's Alhambra was an interesting mulitmedia interlude. Now, on Transmission, no musical stone has been left unturned as The Tea Party have applied a tinge of keyboards to indigenous instruments while remaining true to their rock foundation.
(The band and its label have coined it 'Moroccan roll'.)
In spite of their experimental tendencies, particularly in light of Transmission's electronic underpinnings, Burrows and Martin are quick to remind me where The Tea Party really stand.
"First and foremost," says Burrows, as though he's reading a marquee, "The Tea Party. The rock band."
Martin agrees. "This is not an electronica record," he says. "As much as we flirted with it, technology will always be the scorpion that stings itself, so you don't want to be too dependent on it. Once you jump on a bandwagon, you automatically lose the opportunity for your music to have any sense of timelessness. And we didn't want this record to be transient. This is one heavy fucking rock & roll record. That's all it is."
While Martin and Burrows often downplay the band's musical approach, they insist that it isn't premeditated. As for their heavier use of keyboards on Transmission, Martin says, "It's more of an intuitive thing. I can't stress enough that nothing is premeditated on this record. It just kind of happened."
Attempting to shed more light onto the inner workings of their collective mind, he says, "The essence of songs like 'The Bazaar' and 'Sister Awake' [from Edges] compelled the band to infuse indigenous instruments of the cultures that were influencing those songs. But with the songs behind Transmission -- and their apocalyptic, dark, Buddhist tendencies -- it made more sense to echo the sentiments of the emotions with chaotic sounds, like distubing guitar freqencies, screwing with Jeff's drum sound, or using loops."
Although the band enjoys exploring new territory, Burrows and Martin seem torn between their urge to stress its originality and their desire to de-emphasize it. "[Transmission] is one more vein that we've delved into," says Burrows. "It's not the next big thing. It's just another path that we've chosen to undertake."
Martin's perspective is fueled more by pride than humility. "I want to be the antithesis to everything that's going on right now," he says, referring to their new US deal with Atlantic Records. "I think the climate in America is right for our music now. Everything's so pop-driven, and we're gonna come on the radio, and it'll be like 'what's that?'"
There's a thin line between pride and pomposity, and The Tea Party have often been accused of crossing it. But Burrows and Martin rise to the band's defense. "If you don't have confidence in your work, why bother?" asks Burrows rhetorically.
Martin, too, makes no apologies. "I'm humble when it comes to matters of human understading and my inner reaction to others. But I put a lot of pride in my music. I would present The Tea Party as the official opposition to the apathetic mentality that exists in rock & roll, because you should care about what you do and back it up with pride and conviction. I put those words on the music and believe in it. I'm not fucking around. If you want levity, if you want a joke band, buy a Barenaked Ladies record."
Like most artists, The Tea Party take their music seriously and constantly aim to hone their craft. But they've also garnered their fair share of criticism for that single-mindedness. In an April interview published in Toronto's NOW Magazine, Ken MacNeil of rusty claimed that Martin never spoke to his band during a 13-date tour but clearly went out of his way to befriend him at Edgefest '96 because, in MacNeil's words, "'Wake Me' [the band's hit single] had happened." Burrows and Martin haven't seen the article, but are amused by MacNeil's comments. "We're flattered that he finds us so compelling," says Burrows. Martin interjects: "Can I just put this into perspective? Who cares?"
The Tea Party is used to being misunderstood. First, there were the comparisons to you-know-who, prompting Martin to storm out of interviews (comparisons which Transmission puts to bed). Secondly, they were accused of being aloof. "As much as we try to explain ourselves as best we can in interviews, I think, personally, we're pretty quiet", explains Martin. "We're a bit reserved, and it's not because of egotism. It's just that we're not really that social."
Burrows adds, "Especially on a show date, we're not in the mood to party and drink." Martin and his band may not always make a good first impression, but neither did Howard Roark. And society yielded to him in the end.

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